Aziraphale feels his back press against the wall, Crowley press up against him, and finding himself delightfully trapped between both almost causes him to falter. He's threading that line of almost too much, taking blind steps into something he always thought was never there, and it's terrifying, it's exciting, it's *exhilarating*, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

But he knows well enough to slide his hands down to the lapels on Crowley's jacket and pull, then to slide a hand to Crowley's back, grip the back of his jacket, while the other finds itself at the back of his head again. Kiss never broken and unsteadiness slowly fading - the wall helps.